Tis The Season
by abitweird
Summary: Christmas is approaching, but a saboteur aboard the Enterprise puts an end to any planned festivities. Captain Archer puts Lieutenant Reed in charge of finding the person responsible and discovering their motives. Saving the ship and crew becomes a race against time for the Tactical Officer. Rated for colourful and creative swearing, along with descriptions of violence and injury.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: This story will make a little more sense if you have read one of my previous stories, "The Price of Loyalty", but I have tried to ensure that pre-reading it is not essential. By way of information, Lt. Brogan is a former Section 31 Agent from Newcastle, England. She sings a bit and swears quite a lot! Written out of my own desire to escape the silly season for a while... contains lots of swearing, graphic descriptions of injury and violence, attempts at singing and passing references to Christmas. You're welcome._

* * *

"What the bloody hell is that?" Lieutenant Malcolm Reed pointed accusingly towards the offending item, his sense of rising ire scoring a deep frown into his brow.

His heavily-tattooed Second in Command, Lieutenant Kate Brogan, folded her arms and raised her eyebrows, the picture of innocence; "What's what?"

"That... thing."

Brogan followed the line of Reed's pointed finger, and gasped in mock-horror, clapping her hands to her face; "Oh my God! Where did that come from?"

"Brogan, you've got ten seconds to explain yourself before I load it into a torpedo tube and launch it directly into the nearest sun."

"Aw, come on, Malcolm," she pleaded, beseechingly; "don't be such a miserable git."

"Seriously - what the hell is it and why is it in my armoury?"

"I'll have you know that 'it' is my Christmas tree and it's in _our_ armoury because it's Christmas."

Reed surveyed the offending article dubiously; to call it a 'tree' was a real stretch of the definition. It was actually more of a fabric wall-hanging, obviously old and handmade. It depicted a traditional green tree against a white canvas background that had faded to brown over the years. It was patched and stained, though the green tree still glittered with hand-stitched sequins and ribbons denoting tinsel and baubles. It was obviously a much-cherished item that had been dutifully hung on a wall every year since its creation, but in the armoury it looked tattered, garish and out of place hanging from a hook on the bulkhead beside gleaming consoles and polished torpedoes.

"It's not Christmas," Reed tried a different tactic, "it's still three days until the 25th."

"Three whole days... Okay, so it's nearly Christmas," Brogan countered, her arms still folded defensively, "come on, Mal – it's not doing any harm."

"It's the armoury, Brogan! That thing...tree...is just not appropriate."

"The rest of the armoury crew like it," she sniffed at him, unfolding her arms to stuff her hands casually into her pockets; her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, revealing the intricate ink-work that decorated her forearms, "we all think it lends a bit of seasonal cheer to the place. Besides, I hear Trip's trying to cajole Jon into allowing some Christmas shore-leave on a nice planet somewhere and Chef's already planning a proper Christmas dinner, though I'm damned if I know how he's going to rustle up a turkey."

"Commander Tucker and Captain Archer can plan shore leave all they like," Reed replied, stressing the formal ranks and names in response to her irreverent casualness, "the targeting scanners are still way out of alignment and the port phase canon is still delivering only eighty-four percent of the maximum yield, so we have got plenty of work to do without entering into a democratic vote on the appropriateness of tacky Christmas decorations."

"Tacky!" Brogan pretended to be outraged, "I'll have you know my very own great-grandmother hand-stitched that tree! Besides, since when did you concede that the armoury is a democracy?"

"It's not," Reed countered, "this is my stringent dictatorship and you'll all do as I say, and I say the tree has to go."

"The tree stays or I'm calling a general strike."

"You can't go on strike; Starfleet regulations do not permit strike action."

"So we'll go on strike against that as oppressive and unfair," Brogan balled her fist and held it in the air, "bugger the regulations, down with the system, up with the Christmas Tree!"

"You're fired."

"Bah humbug to you too," Brogan threw her hands up in the air in mock despair, "God Almighty, Malcolm, where's your Christmas spirit? 'Tis the season of goodwill and joy to whoever-the-hell-cares..."

"Good Lord," Reed rolled his eyes, well aware that Ensigns D'Arcy and Timmins were listening in on the conversation despite giving every impression of being hard at work on the targeting scanners, "I feel like Ebenezer Scrooge and I've been forced to live with the Ghost of Christmas Present for the last bloody month."

"Deck the bulkheads, fa-la-la-la-la," Brogan deadpanned back to him, "come on, grumpy guts. You realign the scanners and I'll relay the real-time information back to you..."

She crossed to the console and began to punch up the data, as Reed unfixed the front panel to review the circuitry and relays underneath. The tattered fabric tree remained hanging on its hook, forgotten for the moment. They worked in silence for a few minutes, until D'Arcy and Brogan shared a knowing look and Brogan nodded. D'Arcy began to whistle a soft tune; Timmins picked up on it quickly and began to hum along as well, and then Brogan joined in with sung lyrics.

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas..."

"Okay, okay, enough already!" Reed pleaded, from beneath the console, "God, please, not the songs. Anything but bloody Christmas songs..."

"A promise," Brogan replied, smirking at the grinning Ensigns, "that there will be no singing in the armoury in your presence until 25th December, when it's permitted by law, and in exchange the Christmas tree stays, deal?"

"This feels like blackmail," Reed's voice was muffled by the console, as he had virtually crawled inside it.

"That's because it is blackmail, sir," D'Arcy pointed out, gruffly, sounding amused.

"Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the feast of Stephen..." Brogan warbled, deliberately flat and out of tune, as Timmins and D'Arcy both joined in, Timmins going for high-pitched and squeaky while D'Arcy rumbled with a deep yet flat bass; "...When the snow lay 'round about, deep and crisp and even. Brightly shone the moon that night..."

"Stop! Stop! Okay, the bloody tree can stay – just no more singing!"

"Only in the armoury," Brogan reminded him, in a saccharine-sweet tone, "and even then only in your presence... don't forget there's a Carols Concert on Christmas Eve in the Mess Hall."

"I'm not going."

"You're supposed to be playing the piano for it."

"I never agreed to that."

"I agreed on your behalf," Brogan studied her fingernails innocently, well aware of Timmins and D'Arcy sniggering behind her, "I'll have my guitar, and Ensign D'Arcy's got his drums, and Crewman Llewellyn is going to bring his fiddle... The Captain was absolutely delighted to hear how thrilled you'd be to play a selection of favourite carols and Christmas songs for the improvement of crew morale..."

"You... you didn't..."

"I hope you've been practicing."

"I'm not doing it."

"I'll order you to do it."

"You can't order me – I'm the senior officer here."

"I'll order you on the Captain's behalf."

"I'm pretty sure you can't give orders by proxy."

"I'll get Commander Tucker to do it."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I would," Brogan grinned, "and if you make one more disparaging remark about my tree, my singing, or Christmas in general, I promise to make your life a living Christmas nightmare for the next three days."

"As if you weren't going to do that already," Reed shot back, "how's that looking?"

"A girl's gotta have her hobbies," Brogan shrugged, "nah, you're still off by five point three percent; the power seems to be fluctuating and it's phasing the scanners out of alignment. Try repolarising the relay."

"You know damn well if I do that I could blow out the power coupling."

"Yeah, I just like hearing you swear when you do it, especially when you burn your fingers. Besides, Phlox's Osmotic Eel is cute and it's nice to give him something to excrete on now and again."

"Bloody hellfire... What the hell did I do to deserve you for a second in command?"

"I dunno, but I bet you regret it. Besides..." Brogan was sharply cut off when the power relay Reed was recalibrating suddenly and without warning shorted out, exploding in a shower of sparks and a puff of smoke. He let out a yelp and snatched his hand away, dropping the callipers with a loud clatter.

"Shit!" Brogan swore, loudly, "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Reed called back, annoyance lending his voice a sharp edge, "What did you do?"

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing," Brogan's long fingers danced across the controls as she frowned in puzzlement, "I have literally no idea what caused that... D'Arcy? Timmins?"

"Didn't touch a thing, boss."

"Not me, sir."

"Looks like the relay suffered a sudden cascade failure," there was an edge of amazement in Brogan's tone, as she surveyed the screen readouts, "Bloody hell, Malcolm, you're lucky the failsafe cut off the surge or you'd have been fried, along with half of the weapons systems!"

"Bloody thing must have been faulty," Reed commented, emerging from underneath the console, shaking his singed fingers, "that must be why the sensors are out of alignment... we're going to have to strip and rebuild the entire conduit."

"How long's that going to take?" Brogan crouched down beside him, peering under the console, wrinkling her nose at the acrid smell of electrical smoke.

"At least twelve, maybe eighteen hours," Reed's tone was grim, "Brogan, contact the Bridge and tell them we've had a faulty power relay blow out in the targeting scanners and we're going to need to take the weapons systems offline for the next, ah, twenty-four hours. D'Arcy, run down to Engineering, pick up some replacement relay components, a few power couplings and some optical cabling – about five meters should suffice to replace what's burned out. Timmins, there's no point in running those system checks now so give D'Arcy a hand, please..."

The offending Christmas tree and looming carol concert forgotten, the armoury crew buckled down and set to work.

* * *

Upon hearing that the _Enterprise_ weapons systems were going to be taken completely offline, Captain Archer immediately ordered course change to the nearest uninhabited sector where the ship could safely wait while the repairs were completed. Reed had not wasted any time; when Archer came to get a progress report on the repairs, he walked in to find the armoury was, quite literally, in pieces. He stepped through the door and immediately froze; he had never seen the pristine workspace so chaotic before. The bench, floor, and every other surface seemed to be strewn with parts, components, relays, couplings, and cabling. Ensign D'Arcy was standing on top of one of the torpedo tube launchers, apparently having removed the bulkhead and was systematically pulling out, checking and replacing the cabling within. Ensign Timmins was on top of the gantry, scanning a selection of components, apparently sorting good ones from bad. The lower half of another person was sticking out from an access hatch beneath the torpedo tube D'Arcy was standing on.

"Can anyone explain to me exactly what's going on in here?" Archer asked, bewildered, "I thought you were just rebuilding the targeting scanners..."

"It's a little more complicated than that..." a muffled female voice replied, distantly, "uh, hand me that micro-spanner, would you?"

Archer picked up the requested tool and pressed it into the outstretched hand, receiving a quick; "Ta, Captain," in response.

"Brogan? Is that you under there?"

"Yes – I wish it bloody wasn't, but it could be worse..."

"How could it be worse?" Archer queried.

"Shout for Malcolm and you'll find out."

"Shout for... why? Where is he?" Archer suddenly realised that the chief Armoury Officer was nowhere in sight.

"Lieutenant!" D'Arcy hollered, making him jump slightly, "The Captain's here to see you!"

Archer heard some clanging, a muffled curse in a distinctly British accent, and then, of all things, Reed literally climbed out of the torpedo launch tube. Archer eyed the Tactical Officer in shock; the normally neat-and-tidy Lieutenant had his uniform sleeves rolled up to the elbows, jacket unzipped slightly at the front. He was plastered in sweat and grease, his hair sticking up at odd angles. As if suddenly becoming mindful of his appearance, he swept a hand through his hair and straightened his posture.

"Sir," he began, but Archer cut him off with a wave.

"At ease, Malcolm – what on Earth is going on in here?"

"We've discovered a serious fault with the weapons systems, sir," Reed's tone was grave, "I thought it was just one faulty relay, but as we began repairs other relays began to fail; so far we've found seven sub-standard relays. We're going to have to check every single circuit in every single system."

"What's causing them to fail all of a sudden?" Archer queried, shocked by the news, "Multiple relays don't just randomly fail."

"The relays that have been failing are not Starfleet standard issue," Reed picked up a scorched, blackened piece of metal from the bench, "oh, they look real enough, but these weren't manufactured by Starfleet... someone made these, replaced the real relays, and set these up to fail."

"Who, how and why?" Archer demanded, incredulously.

"Those are all questions I intend to answer as soon as we've managed to bring the weapons back online," Reed said, a bitter note creeping into his voice, "whoever did this had intimate knowledge of our systems and did this over a long period of time."

"How?" Archer repeated.

Reed did not answer immediately, turning the scorched relay over in his hands.

"Lieutenant – how?"

"It could only have been a member of the Armoury staff," Reed said, eventually, quietly, hating the words even as he spoke, "someone under my command has systematically and deliberately sabotaged the weapons systems, probably over a period of several months. From the positioning of the faulty relays it looks like they were going to cause a cascade failure that would have bypassed all of the safety protocols in order to detonate one of the photonic torpedoes in the launcher tube. It would have crippled the ship, torn a hole through the hull across five or six decks and killed anyone within the blast radius. We were lucky one of the relays began to fail ahead of the saboteur's schedule otherwise we might never have picked up on it."

Archer stared at Reed, mouth agape as he tried to process this information; "Are you telling me there's a saboteur on board?"

"Or an extremely well disguised alien infiltrator," Reed's face twisted into a scowl, "or some other stowaway my scanners can't detect... I've already asked Commander Tucker to start running checks on other key systems to ensure that no other areas of the ship's function are under threat. Someone wanted to use our own weapons to cause serious damage against us, sir."

Archer's mind worked quickly; "Lock down the Armoury and all key systems; non-essential personnel are to be stood down immediately pending a full investigation... Lieutenant, how many people do you need working on this?"

"At least two, sir, but it will need to be around the clock."

"Pick someone you trust."

"Brogan," Reed said, immediately.

"Aw, damn it!" came a muffled voice from under the console, "you bastard!"

Archer's lips quirked in grim amusement even as he said; "D'Arcy, Timmins, you're both stood down for now – nothing personal but this work just became highly classified. You do not breathe a word of this to anyone, understood?"

"Aye sir," the two Ensigns chorused, immediately.

"Dismissed," Archer watched the two of them go as Brogan wormed her way out from beneath the console and stood beside Reed, her dark expression matching his as they waited for the door to close.

"Well, shit," Brogan groaned, raising her hands to her head, running her fingers through her long, tangled hair, "What the bloody hell are we going to do?"

"Rebuild the whole weapons system from scratch if we have to," Reed answered, dropping the faulty relay back onto the table, with a clatter, "sir, whoever did this, they've done it patiently, over a period of months, and it looks like they were almost ready to press the trigger, so to speak. I don't know yet what they hoped to accomplish but we should be on high alert."

"There are too many people out there who want to see our mission fail, for whatever reason," Archer responded, surveying the two weary-looking, filthy Lieutenants, "you two are the only ones permitted to work on the repairs and you'll each be double-checking everything. Take rest breaks when you need to but the Armoury remains sealed if neither of you are here. Malcolm, you'll be heading up the investigation as soon as the repair work is finished – I want to know who did this and why."

"Me too, sir," the Lieutenant nodded, determinedly, "Someone came very close to crippling the ship and killing a lot of the crew with it... there has to be a reason."

"Some people just want to watch the world burn," Brogan growled, "you'd better hope Malcolm finds the saboteur before I do, Captain. I'm a lot less... civilised... about these things."

Archer shook his head, "Just focus on getting the weapons back online – it's not beyond the realms of possibility that the sabotage was intended to coincide with a direct attack. We need to be ready, just in case."

"Aye, sir," Reed nodded, "If Mr Tucker can lend us a hand when he's finished checking the other key systems, it would be appreciated."

"I'll be sure to mention it to him," Archer nodded, "I'll leave you to it – report in as soon as you can."

"Aye sir," Reed nodded, dourly.

Archer departed the Armoury as swiftly as he had arrived, leaving Reed and Brogan to survey the mess.

"Where do you want to start?" Brogan shrugged, spreading her hands.

"Let's see if we can get the torpedo launchers reassembled first – manual targeting is tricky but do-able and at least we'd be able to fire if someone did attack," Reed ran his hand through his hair, turning towards the torpedo tube, "right... let's get on with it, maybe in an hour or so we can get one of the stewards to bring us some tea..."

"And biscuits," Brogan added, already clambering back under the console, "if we're going to be so stereotypically English, I want biscuits with my tea."

"Get those torpedo launchers back online and I'll requisition you every single bloody biscuit on this ship."


	2. Chapter 2

Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker III wound his way hurriedly through the corridors of the _Enterprise_ , carrying a large equipment case in both hands. He finally reached the Armoury but then stopped short when the door failed to open in response to him pressing the control. Surprised, he pressed the manual override, but it still refused the budge – then, he remembered that it was in lockdown, so he tapped the buzzer. He heard a loud clang from inside, and then a female voice shouted from within.

"Who is it?"

"It's me, Trip," he called back, through the metal door, impatiently; "I got those additional components you asked for!"

"What's the password?"

"Brogan, open the damn door or I'll jettison these relays out the nearest airlock!"

The door swished open and to Trip's surprise, it was Reed who had opened it, not Brogan.

"Hey," Trip greeted him, "you look like crap."

"Ask him how he guessed the password so quick!" came Brogan's voice; from the sounds of things she was somewhere up on the gantry.

"You'll have to excuse Lieutenant Brogan, she's completely insane," Reed said, straight-faced, as he took the case, "thanks, Trip. How are the system checks going?"

"Slowly but we're almost done," Trip yawned and stretched, "so far we haven't found a single faulty relay, so it looks as though the problem is confined to the Armoury. How are you guys gettin' on?"

"When you were here before," Brogan began singing, somewhere above them, "Couldn't look you in the eye... you're just like an angel, your skin makes me cry..."

Reed gestured tiredly at the Armoury behind him, and Trip winced in sympathy. It was still in complete disarray – Archer had told Trip his orders, and asking two people to rebuild an entire weapons system from the ground up was no easy task; the last time they'd done it they'd had the whole of the Armoury and Engineering crews behind them. For Reed and Brogan to do it on their own was going to be no easy task.

"You float like a feather in a beautiful world..." Brogan was still in full voice, eliciting a smile from Trip despite the seriousness of the situation, "And I wish I was special... You're so fuckin' special... But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here..."

"Believe it or not you do belong here, but you're definitely a weirdo!" Trip shouted back, in his best 'helpful' tone.

"Ah! That's where I'm going wrong then!" Brogan yelled, with a giggle, from high above somewhere.

"It looks worse than it is," Reed was obviously trying to sound optimistic, while getting the conversation back on track, "the torpedo launchers are pretty much done, it's just the phase cannons, the intermix relays, the targeting array and the tactical scanners to do..." He trailed off, and then added; "Of course, I haven't checked the Bridge controls yet, but that will have to wait."

"Once we've done with the system checks I'll be down to lend a hand," Trip promised, "We'll get this sorted, Malcolm, I promise."

"Thanks Trip."

"Look, you guys have been at this for hours – Jon won't mind if you take a break and get some sleep, you look like you could use some."

"I'd love to, but I just can't sleep knowing the phase cannons are offline," Reed raised a small smile and shook his head, "we can keep going for a little while yet... I'd best get on. Thanks again for these..."

Trip nodded and stepped back; Reed also took a step backwards, allowing the door to close. He turned, and deposited the case on the floor, opening it and taking out a relay circuit. Out of a rapidly-forming habit, he scanned it to verify it was working properly, before he climbed on top of the torpedo tube to install it in the mess of circuitry hanging out of the open bulkhead.

"Mal," Brogan's voice sounded above him from the gantry, "I've finished repolarising the ion buffers so the plasma flow should be within acceptable safety parameters. Do you mind if I run to the galley and grab another flask of tea and something to eat? I'm famished."

"Only if you bring me something back," Reed told her, without looking back from his task, "just a quick snack or something. I still want to see if I can get the phase cannons back online within the next three or four hours..."

"All work and no play..." Brogan slid down the ladder and landed lightly on the deck, "Anything in particular?"

"Just a sandwich or something will do," Reed replied, distantly, still focussed on what he was doing.

"Won't be long, then. See you in a bit."

Reed heard the door open and then seal closed again, as he reconnected the last few wires and fixed the relay into place. He double-checked the wiring once more, and then re-sealed the bulkhead. Crawling into the torpedo tube, he verified that the power was running at adequate levels through all of the systems, scanning for any anomalous readings as he went. Satisfied all was well, he set to work on the second torpedo tube. He worked doggedly for some time before he gradually realised that the silence in the Armoury was becoming noticeable – Brogan had been gone for some time. He shrugged to himself; they had been working for some fourteen hours straight, he could not complain if she was taking her time in the Mess Hall. He was about to squirm underneath one of the consoles when the communications system bleeped.

"Sickbay to Lieutenant Reed, please respond."

"Now what?" he groaned, under his breath, getting to his feet again.

He crossed over to the wall console and flicked the switch.

"Reed here, go ahead."

"Lieutenant, would you please report to Sickbay immediately?"

"Doctor, I can't really leave the Armoury right now," Reed tried to keep the irritation out of his exhausted tone, "is there something you need?"

"It is a matter of urgency," something in Phlox's tone stirred Reed's security instincts, despite his tiredness, "I cannot discuss it over an open com channel..."

"I'm on my way," he thumbed the channel closed, and, giving the Armoury one last, forlorn look, he headed out of the door, making sure to lock the door with a security code. He just hoped Brogan could remember the four digit password when she got back.

Taking a deep breath, Reed broke into a run; the Armoury was situated on Deck F while Sickbay was only one level up on Deck E. He managed to catch the turbo-lift and then sprinted the remaining distance to the medical suite, not even slightly out of breath. He ducked through the doors, glancing quickly around; Phlox was nowhere to be seen, though one of the beds towards the back of the room was curtained off.

"Doctor?" Reed called, uncertainly, "you wanted to see me?"

"Ah!" Phlox appeared from behind the curtain, "Lieutenant, thank you for coming. Captain Archer should be here any moment..."

As if on cue, the sickbay doors swished open once more, and Archer hurried in, finger-combing his hair into place; Reed could not help but wonder what time it was, as it appeared that the Captain had been peremptorily roused from slumber.

"What's happened, doc?" Archer asked, glancing at Reed in mutual confusion, "What's going on?"

"Captain," Phlox's voice took on an uncharacteristically grave tone, "I am afraid that I must report that a member of the crew has been assaulted."

"Assaulted?" Archer repeated, shock plastered across his expressive features, "Who? What happened?"

"I am not clear on the circumstances of the assault," Phlox replied, softly, glancing back at the curtained-off bed, "but it seems to have been extremely vicious and apparently unprovoked..."

Dread suddenly seized Reed's chest, and a shiver ran down his spine. He had a feeling that he knew the answer to the question he was about to ask.

"Doctor," he manage to force himself to speak beyond the knot in his throat; "who was assaulted?"

There was sympathy in Phlox's gaze as he turned to the Tactical Officer; "I am afraid that it was Lieutenant Brogan."

Reed heard Archer's gasp and felt the Captain's hand grip his shoulder; strong, firm and supportive. He took a deep breath; "Is she-?"

"She will recover, but it will take time," Phlox held out his hand, "she was apparently attacked from behind – this was attached to the back of her neck..."

Phlox held out his hand, revealing a small, silver-black tube, only a few centimetres long. To both the doctor and Archer's astonishment, Reed snarled a venomous curse, lunged forward and snatched the device from Phlox's outstretched palm.

"This?" Reed held the device up between his thumb and forefinger, a thread of rage lending an abnormal quiver to his voice, "This was used on Brogan?"

"Yes," Phlox frowned, quizzically, "I have never seen anything like it before... it appears to be some kind of neural disruptor."

"You have seen one of these before, I take it?" Archer was eyeing his Tactical Officer warily; he had never before seen Malcolm Reed look so angry before.

"Yes," Reed spat, gripping the tiny device tightly in one fist, and then took a deep, calming breath, explaining; "it's an interrogative device, used to inflict severe pain on the subject. At its highest setting it can induce an intense neural shock designed to incapacitate the victim instantaneously. Kate – Lieutenant Brogan – can I see her?"

"I'm afraid she's in an induced coma for the meanwhile," Phlox shook his head, "I believe she will make a full recovery but she will need some time. You can see her tomorrow."

"We need to investigate the circumstances of the attack," Archer said, authoritatively, "Malcolm, I know you've got a lot on your plate at the moment..."

"I'll see to it, Captain," Reed cut in, firmly; "I will see to this personally... where did the attack take place? Were there any witnesses?"

"Deck E, in the outer corridor outside the Mess Hall, around by the emergency escape pods airlock," Phlox supplied, quickly, "it seems Lieutenant Brogan may have been lured to a quieter corridor; a passing crewman heard a noise and came around to find her unconscious by the lifeboat hatch. There was nobody else in sight and Crewman Faraday stayed at the scene until I arrived."

"Why wasn't I summoned immediately?" Reed queried, staring at the device in his palm "the area should have been cordoned off for a thorough security sweep... any trace forensic evidence is likely lost now."

"The device was not discovered until we got to sickbay," Phlox replied, calmly, sensing no recrimination in Reed's sharp tone, merely the concern of an officer for his junior; "at first I thought Lieutenant Brogan had merely suffered some minor illness or collapse, it was not immediately obvious that a, ah, crime might have been committed."

"Crime," Archer repeated the word, grimacing as if it left a sour taste in his mouth, "on my ship... Malcolm, you said you'd seen a device like this and you know exactly what it is. Where have you seen these used before?"

"It is a weapon, Captain," Reed said, darkly, "that I have only ever seen used by high-ranking Section 31 Agents. We have an infiltrator on board and whoever it is means to cause us serious harm."


	3. Chapter 3

Archer had reacted to the news of a Section 31 Agent on board by putting virtually the whole ship on lockdown. All non-essential personnel were confined to quarters when not on duty or in the Mess. Security personnel guarded all of the key areas of the ship in pairs, and crew were logged in and out of their quarters, duty stations and Mess so that every crewmember's position was monitored at all times. Communications channels were shut down to essential only and all transmissions were being closely monitored.

Reed had investigated the site of the attack on Brogan, to no avail; all he found was a spilt carafe of tea and two rather stale sandwiches strewn on the deck. He felt a flash of guilt, recalling how long she had been absent from the Armoury and that he had thought nothing of it. He had no doubt Brogan had been targeted because he had chosen her to assist with the Armoury repairs and possibly due to her own chequered history with Section 31. Frustrated by the lack of evidence as to who might have carried out the brutal attack, and with Brogan unconscious in Sickbay and unable to tell him anything, Reed had returned to the Armoury to continue with the repairs. He elected to work alone; the rest of his staff were stretched thin enough as it was guarding other essential systems.

As he worked determinedly on the final task, the thrice-damned targeting scanners, he scrubbed the back of his hand over blurry eyes and checked the time on the console. He had been working for nearly twenty-six hours straight. He wondered about asking Phlox for a stimulant to keep him going; he elected instead for drinking the stale cold remains of a strong black coffee. Wincing at the bitter taste, he yawned and stretched, leaning heavily against the console, punching in the command codes to activate the scanners. Nothing happened. He swore under his breath, and dropped to his knees, staring at the wiring, unable to make neither head nor tail of the glowing tangle of circuitry.

He poked something experimentally and then sighed. Perhaps the whole array was faulty and he was going to have to start again from scratch... a chirp from the door control snagged his attention away from the wiring.

"Who is it?" he called out, hoping his voice did not sound as exhausted as he thought it did.

"Trip," called back the familiar voice, through the automatic intercom, "you goin' to let me in?"

Reed dragged himself off the floor with some effort, and keyed open the door. Trip stood the other side, holding a covered tray, looking disgustingly awake and alert.

"Jeeze, Malcolm, when was the last time you slept? You look awful!"

Unable and unwilling to reply, Reed simply stood back and waved for Trip to enter the Armoury. As he did so and the door closed behind him, Trip let out a low whistle.

"Good grief," Tucker stared around in open admiration, "an' they call me a miracle worker..."

Reed folded his arms, glancing around. He had to admit, it did look very different; everything was immaculate, clean and tidy, restored to his normal levels of pristine neatness... He'd even re-hung Brogan's tattered Christmas tree, giving it pride of place high up on the bulkhead between the two torpedo launchers, wistfully recalling their earlier banter as he had placed it carefully on a hook he had installed just for that purpose. Everything was fixed, cleaned and returned to normal except, of course, for the targeting scanners.

"Here," Trip held up the tray, "nobody's seen you at the Mess for at least the last twelve hours so I brought you somethin' to eat..."

"Actually, food sounds pretty good right now," Reed admitted, rubbing his eyes tiredly, "thanks, Trip."

The food in question turned out to be two bowls of chicken stir-fry and a mug of hot tea. Reed seized at the tea and sipped it with obvious relief. Trip handed him a bowl and a fork and then tucked into his own dish with apparent relish. Reed ate more slowly, mechanically, staring at the armoury console, trying to think but his mind fogged by the thick clouds that only gather in the minds of the chronically over-worked and sleep-deprived. Trip followed his gaze, and then crouched down, flicking his expert eye over the wiring.

"Huh," the Engineer grunted, "you're more tired than I thought..."

He set his dish aside, unplugged two of the wires from one of the relays, swapped them around and plugged them back in. Miraculously, the console whirred and powered up to life. Reed set his own bowl aside with a clatter, food forgotten, as he rushed forward, tapping several keys, his slender fingers skipping across the console with practiced ease.

"Yes," he breathed, relief surging through his veins, "God, it would have taken me hours to spot that... Trip, you're a genius... Oh... oh thank God..."

"What?" Trip frowned at him, but his expression was amused; he was not used to seeing Reed so expressive; it was clear that his exhaustion had lowered his usual emotional barriers, "What's got you so happy?"

"The targeting scanners," Reed grinned, closing his eyes briefly in delight, "they're aligned. They're perfectly aligned... Everything's back online."

"Great. Now do yourself a favour and go get some sleep! You look like a zombie."

"Is that an order, Commander?"

"Damn straight it is," Trip smiled, "come on, I'll take you back to your quarters before you decide to go sleep in a torpedo tube or somethin'... let's go."

"One thing first, Trip," Reed crossed to the wall console and flicked the communications channel open, "Reed to Captain Archer.

"Archer here; go ahead."

"Sir," Reed took a deep breath, "I'm pleased to report that the weapons systems are now back online and fully operational. Everything checks out, Captain."

"With the Chief Engineer's seal of approval!" Trip piped up, crossing to join him.

"Good work, Malcolm!" Archer responded, jubilantly, "I know you've still got a lot to do but you've earned a break – at least eight hours of sleep, I reckon. We'll be keeping the ship on high alert."

"Thank you, sir," Reed said, gratefully, "I'll resume my investigation immediately afterwards."

"Eight hours at least, Lieutenant – Archer out."

"Well," Trip smiled, as the com channel closed, "you heard the man. Let's go."

Reed, for once, put up no resistance, pausing only to seal the Armoury door behind them – he could clear up the dinner dishes once he had caught some much-needed sleep.

* * *

Some eight and a half hours later, Malcolm Reed found himself feeling much better; he had slept, showered, donned a clean uniform, and had awoken with a grim sense of determination to find their saboteur. First things first, however... He started with a visit to Sickbay. As he stepped through the door, clutching his data pad, Phlox was bending over one of the monitors, frowning slightly; he turned and his expressive features shifted into a smile of greeting.

"Ah, Lieutenant!" he beamed, "What can I do for you?"

"I just," Reed hesitated, "Well, I'd like to see Lieutenant Brogan, if I may – and I'd like to ask you a few questions about what happened."

"Lieutenant Brogan has yet to regain consciousness," Phlox's smile waned slightly but he gestured to Reed to follow, "she suffered a severe neurological shock, so I'll be keeping her sedated for the next twelve hours at least."

"Will there be any lasting damage?" Reed asked, quietly, as the doctor twitched aside the privacy curtain.

"Fortunately not, though I imagine she will have quite the headache on regaining consciousness," Phlox replied, "though the last time Lieutenant Brogan was in my Sickbay I did learn quite a number of new, ah, colourful phrases, shall we say? Some of them I have yet to learn a proper definition to; when I asked Ensign Sato for an explanation she seemed quite uncomfortable!"

"I can imagine," Reed managed a grim smirk which rapidly faded when he saw Brogan lying unconscious on the bed.

Clad in a black vest – she hated the standard issue Starfleet blue ones – with a blanket drawn up to her waist, only the slight rise and fall of her chest and the monitors told Reed she was alive.

"Bloody hell," Reed folded his arms and shook his head, "She's not going to be able to tell me anything when she wakes up, is she?"

"Probably not," Phlox admitted, casting professional eye over the monitor readings, "you were familiar with the device used on Lieutenant Brogan – you must also be familiar with its effects?"

"I never used one," Reed interjected, quickly, lest the doctor think otherwise, "but... I did have one used on me, in training. All agents go through it – kind of a test, a rite of passage – they demonstrate the lowest setting on you to show how much it hurts. We're all trained to resist interrogation techniques and that was part of it. Brogan must have got hit with the highest setting; you wouldn't use that in interrogation, that's designed to instantly incapacitate, usually for covert operations, infiltrations, that kind of thing. I haven't seen one in years."

Reed did not add that he had seen the effects of long-term use of the device on prisoners and suspects at a top-secret detention facility he had visited once; severe repeated neurological shocks caused deterioration of the central nervous system and neural trauma that usually left the unfortunate subjects as dribbling, trembling wrecks, combined with interrogation and sensory torture that broke their wills and their souls, making them cry, weeping and moaning, offering up any and all information required of them to make it stop. Reed shied away from his recollections, tuning back into the here and now.

"That the device is small and easily concealed means it would have been easy to smuggle on board," Phlox commented, "though I'm curious as to why it was left behind..."

"I'm wondering about that too, doctor," Reed nodded, "though there were no fingerprints or DNA traces on it, so I can't identify who might have used it... it's possible whoever attacked Brogan was forced to flee the scene before they could retrieve the agoniser."

"Agoniser? An apt moniker..."

"It's what the agents called it," Reed winced at the memory, sparing a last glance at the recumbent Brogan, "you will let me know the moment she wakes up, won't you?"

"Of course, Lieutenant," Phlox nodded, solemnly, "and please, keep that hideous device under lock and key – I would not want to see it used again."

"As soon as my investigation is completed, doctor, I intend to destroy it completely," Reed said, firmly, "before I go, do you recall seeing anyone in the vicinity of the location of the attack? Anyone at all who might have been out of place, or trying to retrieve the device or other evidence?"

"I'm afraid not, Lieutenant – my attention was focussed on Lieutenant Brogan. Crewman Faraday might be of more assistance; a couple of other crewmembers did attend from the Mess Hall to offer assistance but I'm afraid I cannot recall... what about the security footage?"

"It was the first thing I reviewed from my quarters before I came here – the camera had been disabled," Reed sighed, folding his arms as he studied the tattoos on Brogan's arms, chest and neck, "the attacker may have lain in wait and must have lured her around the corner somehow – Brogan's a tough fighter, though, it must have come as a surprise."

"Do you have any theories as to why she was attacked?"

"Nothing concrete," Reed admitted, folding his arms pensively, "I suspect it's because whoever attacked her was the one trying to cripple our weapons; I'd specifically chosen Brogan to assist me, the assailant might have gone for her in an effort to slow down or halt the repairs."

"Then be careful, Lieutenant – it must have occurred to you that you, too, could be a target for the saboteur."

"It had crossed my mind... thank you doctor. I'll return later."

* * *

Departing Sickbay, Reed made his way down to the Mess Hall. He nodded a polite greeting to the two armed guards stationed at the door and stepped inside, grabbing a mug of tea and a croissant. Choosing an empty table, he cast a quick glance around the room. A few off-duty personnel were sitting around the room but the mood was hushed and sombre; conversations were muted, whispered conspiratorially over drinks and food. Everyone knew by now that there was a saboteur on board; perhaps a stowaway, an infiltrating alien, or, unthinkably, a member of the crew – everyone was a suspect and everyone was on edge. Reed's gaze fell upon the piano in the corner – his piano – Brogan's guitar was resting up against it, she had obviously been practicing in her last off-duty shift. With a pang of regret, he recalled the carols concert she had been looking forward to; a glance at his pad told him that the date was the 23rd December. It would have been tomorrow. Reed wondered, idly, if the lockdown meant Christmas had been cancelled. He did not particularly enjoy the "silly season", as his father had termed it, but it was not the circumstances he would have wished for to avoid it.

Casting the thoughts aside, he finished his quick breakfast and took the dishes back, before slipping out of the Mess Hall. His eyes inadvertently wandered to the corridor Brogan had diverted down before being attacked. He shook his head to himself and, concentrating on the notes on his pad, he made his way back to the armoury. He wanted to run a final check on all of the weapons systems and he needed to review the repair logs from the past few months to see who might have had consistent access to the sabotaged systems. Entering the Armoury, he sealed the door behind himself – an action that was rapidly becoming a habit – and placed all of the dinner dishes from a few hours previously back on the tray Trip had brought down, making a mental note to drop them back at the Mess Hall before he reported to the Captain later.

The silence in the Armoury honed his focus down to razor-sharp intensity as he began to access the duty rosters and repair logs. There were normally always at least two crewmen on duty in the Armoury; no one person should have had unrestricted access to the systems alone aside from himself. Reed began cross-checking the roster and the maintenance reports, looking to see who had accessed all of the systems going back over a period of six months. He included all of the Armoury and Engineering personnel as those being the most likely to have access; he gradually whittled the long list down to half a dozen personnel, all of whom had worked on all of the sabotaged systems within the last six months. He downloaded the details from the main computer to his pad and then immediately erased the record from the memory core – if the saboteur's name was on this list, he did not want his suspect to monitor the progress of his investigation.

Tapping the pad against his palm, he stared sightlessly at the bulkhead for a long time. The list was short, but there they were, his six suspects, discounting himself and Lieutenant Brogan, of course. Crewman Davies, Crewman Oban, Crewman Stuart, Ensign Timmins, Ensign Lee and Ensign D'Arcy...

D'Arcy. Reed was uncomfortably aware that young D'Arcy was also a former Section 31 Agent, who had joined the _Enterprise_ crew along with Brogan after their paths had crossed on a mission. Reed had known Brogan for years, way back from in his undercover days, but D'Arcy... was it possible he was still working as an agent? Reed frowned; he knew first-hand that once recruited, one never really left Section 31, but Commander Harris and his cronies were usually more subtle than that. D'Arcy was an obvious suspect, almost too obvious, but Reed wished to be thorough. D'Arcy would be interviewed in his turn along with all of the others.

Picking up the tray of dirty dishes, Reed returned them to the Mess Hall, grabbing a mug of tea while he was there, and took it back to the Armoury. He was so engrossed in his pad that when the door obligingly opened for him when he pressed the button, he thought nothing of it. Stepping through, he took a sip of his tea, and then froze in place. The door had opened. The security seal had been removed. He glanced back over his shoulder, staring at the door, his mind racing; had he locked it behind him when he'd left? He was certain that he had done so. Hastily setting aside the tea and the pad, he crossed to the monitor and immediately played back the security footage. There was footage of him leaving, a scant twelve minutes ago... the door opened again, and then the footage cut out. Someone had entered the Armoury, erased the security log, and done God-knew what else. Checking the computer, the security code used to access the door had also been erased, all trace of the mysterious visitor carefully eradicated.

"Shit," Reed swore, loudly, as he leaned on his console for a moment, scrubbing a hand across his jaw, "Shit, shit, shit, bugger, crap and bollocks..."

He sighed. Twelve minutes. There was a lot a saboteur could have done in twelve minutes. He tried to think if anyone had walked past him in the corridor on his way back from the Mess, but he'd been totally focussed on his pad. So much for the ever-vigilant Tactical Officer... giving himself a mental kick, he took out a scanner and began to methodically scan every bulkhead, console and surface for trace evidence, fingerprints, or even, God help him, explosives – there was a lot that could happen in twelve minutes. Reed knew that he, personally, could have broken the security encryption on the door, accessed a torpedo or key power relay, planted a low-yield detonator and then been out again in under five minutes.

As he passed the torpedo loaded onto launch tube one, the scanner emitted a low beep. He frowned at the readings, moving closer to the torpedo. Of all the things he had been expecting to detect... the scanner beeped again, confirming his initial scan. The torpedo appeared to be giving off an organic matter reading. Still frowning at the readings, Reed conducted a more detailed scan. Something was distinctly wrong – the photonic torpedo ought to have been emitting a low power reading from the magnetic isolation field which held the gamma rays in check from the matter/antimatter containment pods. There was no power reading, no gamma rays, nothing – just an indication of organic matter.

He set the scanner aside, noticing, with a growing sense of dismay, that a micro-spanner was sitting innocuously by the torpedo and the casing nuts had been removed before being hastily hand fitted back into place. He was able to twist them open by hand. Someone had clearly very quickly opened and re-closed the torpedo. Removing the loose bolts, Reed unclipped the torpedo casing, and prised off the panel. He opened it up and his heart skipped a beat in shock even as the panel slipped from his fingers to clatter onto the deck plates. From inside the torpedo, Ensign Timmins stared back at him with a glassy, sightless gaze, her red hair a shocking contrast to her death-white face; her neck twisted at a grotesque angle.


	4. Chapter 4

Reed stepped backwards, way from the grisly contents of the torpedo, suddenly feeling unable to catch his breath properly, as he fought to maintain his balance. He collided with launch tube two, and grabbed onto the torpedo, using it to haul himself upright. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he straightened up and dashed across to the wall panel, flicking on the ship-wide communications panel.

"This is Lieutenant Reed," he said, fighting to keep his tone neutral and his voice steady, "Doctor Phlox, Captain Archer, please report to the Armoury immediately."

He vaguely heard their acknowledgements as he closed the channel; their saboteur turned assailant had just added murder to their list of crimes, and Reed knew the ship-wide announcement would have indicated to the killer that their crime had just been discovered. Glancing back at the open torpedo, Reed checked the duty logs; Timmins should have been off duty. She had last been recorded as having checked into her quarters some four hours ago, and the logs indicated that, by all accounts, she was still there. Reed sealed the door to her quarters automatically and dispatched two guards to lockdown the whole corridor.

A chime at the door was calamitously loud in the otherwise silent Armoury and he started at the sound. Not bothering to check who was there, Reed opened the door. Phlox stood there, medical kit in hand, only slightly out of breath.

"I came as quickly as I could," the doctor said, hurriedly, "has there been another incident?"

"You could say that, doctor," Reed replied, hollowly, "I'm afraid there is very little that you can do in this case..."

Leaving the door unsealed – the Captain would no doubt arrive soon – Reed crossed to the torpedo tube and, forcing himself not to look away from the tragic figure of his junior officer, he beckoned to the doctor to join him. Frowning, Phlox joined him, and then his expression folded into one of sympathy when he saw the body in the tube.

"Ensign... Timmins, I believe?"

"Yes," Reed could not look away from her face; there was something almost accusatory about her sightless stare, "Ensign Gloria Timmins, she is... was... twenty-six. She was developing into an excellent computer securities specialist..."

She looked so painfully young and small, crammed haphazardly into the torpedo tube casing. Phlox took out his scanner, passing it over her crumpled form.

"I'm detecting several broken vertebrae in her neck," Phlox reported, quietly, as Reed picked up his own scanner again, "she's been dead for at least three hours... it seems the attacker came from behind and exerted extreme lateral force while she was in a relaxed position."

"She was in her quarters," Reed supplied, in a dull voice, "she liked to read. She was probably sitting in a chair..."

The Armoury door whisked open, and they both turned to find Captain Archer standing in the doorway. Noting their mutual grim expressions, Archer dispensed immediately with any greetings.

"What's happened?" he demanded.

Reed took a deep breath; "Ensign Timmins, sir. She's been murdered. I just discovered her body inside a torpedo tube. Someone bypassed my security lockout, accessed the Armoury and dumped her here."

"What?" Archer's stunned disbelief was palpable.

"That's not all, sir," Reed shook his head, glancing at the doctor, "whoever did this removed the matter/anti-matter containment core from the torpedo warhead, and they did it in under twelve minutes. Our saboteur-turned murderer now has the capacity to detonate a variable yield matter/anti-matter reaction that could blow a three square kilometre hole in the _Enterprise._ "

* * *

An investigation of Ensign Timmins' quarters had yielded very little information. A pad, discarded on the floor, and an upended chair told Reed he had been correct; the Ensign had been reading when she had been attacked from behind. A hatchway hung open from the ceiling, leading into a crawlspace above; no doubt the assailant's method of ingress, but there was no way a body could have been removed that way... out in the corridor, however, was another convenient crawlspace that had not been properly fastened. Reed had followed it and found a route that eventually led to just outside the Armoury. DNA traces in the crawlspace matched Timmins, though there was no trace of the murderer, who must have taken precautions against leaving such evidence. Reed surmised that the body could have remained hidden in the crawlspace with the killer lying in wait for a convenient moment to access the Armoury and hide the body.

"Whether or not I was meant to find the body, I don't know," Reed reported, to the rest of the senior staff, as they gathered around the briefing table at the back of the Bridge, "it's entirely possible the killer intended to launch the torpedo and ran out of time, or that they intended for the torpedo to be launched the next time we entered into conflict or tested the weapons. Either way, whoever did this is clearly extremely well trained and very dangerous."

"Deliberate sabotage, an assault on one officer and another murdered," Archer summarised, glancing at each of his officers in turn, "and now there might be a bomb somewhere on board."

"More accurately, a time bomb, sir," Reed caught Archer's questioning glance, "the anti-matter storage container requires a constant power supply to maintain the containment fields. While the torpedoes are inactive, this is supplied from the Armoury, but when detached from the warhead a back-up battery system takes over."

"And when the battery runs down, the containment fields begin to fail," Archer realised, "and when the field collapses, the matter meets anti-matter reaction will blow a hole straight through the ship... how long have we got?"

"The battery life is good for at least twenty hours, Captain... after this, once the field begins to decay, there will be a measurable increase in Gamma radiation prior to the matter/anti-matter reaction."

"Captain," T'Pol cut in, "it may be possible to scan the ship for anomalous power readings, gamma rays, or shielding. The containment device is small and easily concealed, but it will be emitting a power reading unless it has been properly shielded."

"Plugging it into a power supply could also be a way to extend the battery indefinitely," Trip added, "we could look for any unusual power consumption readings."

"Do it, both of you," Archer nodded, "Hoshi, anything unusual on the communications channels?"

"No sir," Ensign Hoshi Sato shook her head, "I've been monitoring all outgoing and incoming transmissions and there's been nothing unusual in any of the signals."

"Keep looking – our saboteur must be taking orders from someone, Section 31 or not," Archer told her, "Malcolm, any suspects so far?"

"Including Ensign Timmins, there were only six people who had access to the Armoury and worked on the affected systems over the last six months," Reed consulted his pad, but in truth he had the list committed to memory; "Crewman Davies, Crewman Oban, Crewman Stuart, Ensign Timmins, Ensign Lee and Ensign D'Arcy."

"D'Arcy?"

Archer was also more than familiar with the Ensign's background, and Reed suppressed the urge to leap to the young man's defence, instead saying; "Everyone on that list has, at some point, had unfettered access to all of the Armoury systems. I suspect Ensign Timmins was... killed... because she may have worked with the saboteur and witnessed something he or she thought would betray them."

"Cross-check to see who the Ensign was on duty with over the last six months and see if anything matches your maintenance logs," Archer ordered, despite knowing Reed would already be doing so, "I want this saboteur found and locked in the brig, understood?"

There was a chorus of assent, and Archer dismissed his officers to their posts. They returned to their Bridge stations, Reed finding that the Tactical Console was still on lockdown. He fired it up, idly remembering that he had not had time to run a full system check on the Bridge console since rebuilding virtually all of the systems in the Armoury. He set the computer to run a diagnostic, simultaneously running the cross checks of Timmins' duty roster and the maintenance logs with his dwindling suspect list, while also beginning to conduct his own internal scans of the ship searching for the torpedo warhead. At the back of the Bridge, Trip was assessing power output across the ship, while T'Pol was looking for anomalous energy readings.

"Travis," Archer took his seat in the centre of the Bridge, addressing the Helmsman directly, "I want you to plot a course for the nearest habitable planet and get us there as quickly as possible... Hoshi, send an encoded sub-space message to Starfleet Headquarters... Keep it short and simple. Tell them we have a suspected saboteur on board and that we are making haste to the nearest habitable planet to evacuate all non-essential personnel from the ship. I want that bomb found, but if we can't locate it, I want as many people off the ship as possible before it explodes. Tell Starfleet that if they don't hear from us within twenty-four hours they need to dispatch a rescue ship post-haste to collect survivors."

"Aye sir," Hoshi's voice betrayed her apprehension, but she obeyed and set to work.

"The Vulcan database indicates a Minshara Class planet in a nearby solar system three hours away at maximum warp," T'Pol offered, informatively, "it is inhabited by an array of flora and fauna but there are no indications of civilisation."

"Sounds perfect," Archer nodded, "Travis?"

"Course plotted and laid in, sir," Ensign Travis Mayweather replied, promptly.

"Then let's go," Archer waved his hand, and a small shudder ran through the ship as the warp engines powered up; then, with only a slight shift as the inertial dampeners compensated for their momentum, the ship leapt into high warp.

* * *

While at warp, the Bridge crew worked on in a tense silence; Reed knew Archer's precautions of warning Starfleet and evacuating the crew were both sensible, but he could not help be concerned that it might tip off their saboteur, or worse, force their hand into making a sudden, unexpected move. His console beeped at him, breaking his chain of thought, indicating that the cross-check of his suspect list had been completed. He keyed the information up onto his screen to review it, but T'Pol's voice cut in, making him glance up, along with everyone else.

"Captain, I am detecting an anomalous power reading."

"Where?" Archer turned his chair towards the science station, his tone urgent.

"I am having difficulty isolating the source," T'Pol turned to look at her scanner and made a minor adjustment, "the reading is fluctuating..."

"I've got it too," Trip called out, "it's coming from one of the upper decks."

"Should we drop out of warp, sir?" Mayweather asked, urgently.

"Negative, stay on course," Archer ordered, quickly, then pressing for a response; "T'Pol?"

"The reading is growing in intensity but by scanners are unable to lock onto a specific source," T'Pol's hands flicked quickly over the controls, "I am modulating the frequency and broadening the scan bandwidth."

"I see it too," Reed tuned the Tactical scanners into the odd reading, "but I can seem to isolate the source..."

Trip crossed to T'Pol's station, punching in a few commands; "I'm boosting the power to the internal sensors, if we recalibrate them to track the energy flow through the relays..."

He trailed off, staring intensely at the readouts, as T'Pol turned back to the scanner.

"The energy reading is increasing," T'Pol reported, bent over her scanner, "it seems to be building up to a surge..."

"An explosion, you mean?" Archer queried, urgency lacing his tone, "Are we about to suffer a hull breach?"

"I don't think so," Trip frowned, "I'm trying to trace the path of the surge, it's odd – it doesn't look like an anti-matter containment breach..."

"Something is interfering with internal scanners," T'Pol reported, "my readings appear to being deliberately interrupted by electro-magnetic interference."

"Output levels still increasing," Trip called out, "Jon, it's here! It's somewhere on the Bridge!"

"Travis, drop us out of warp!" Archer rapped out his orders, "Hoshi, transmit urgent distress beacon to Starfleet! Trip, T'Pol, I need answers! Do we evacuate the Bridge?"

A small but insistent warning beep sounded from Reed's console. He glanced at it, and pressed a few keys, concern creasing his brow – something did not appear to be right...

"I don't think we're building up to..." Trip began to say, but then broke off, his eyes widening in alarm as he looked up, "It's Tactical! Malcolm – your console – move!"

Reed looked up in surprise, but it was too late. Beneath his hands, the Tactical Console sparked, and then exploded. He was distantly aware of shouts of alarm as he was lifted off his feet by the force of the blast. He collided with the bulkhead behind him; vaguely, in a detached and distant way, he was aware of the pain only momentarily, as his vision faded in a shower of white sparks.


	5. Chapter 5

Archer felt the ship shudder and drop out of warp at rapid deceleration even as he gave the order to stop, and he turned towards the science console; "Trip, T'Pol, I need answers! Do we evacuate the Bridge?"

Trip was shaking his head as he assessed the readouts in front of him; "I don't think we're building up to..." he started,, but then broke off, his eyes widening in alarm as he looked up, "It's Tactical! Malcolm – your console – move!"

Archer whipped around to face Tactical but the warning came too late – his eyes briefly met Reed's; the Tactical Officer's grey eyes widened fractionally in realisation, and then, without further warning, the Tactical Console overloaded and exploded in a burst of smoke and a cascade of white sparks. Reed was bodily lifted off the deck by the force of the overload; he slammed heavily into the bulkhead behind him, and then crumpled onto the deck, facedown, motionless.

"Malcolm!" Archer cried out, launching himself from his chair, "Hoshi, get Phlox up here, now!"

Archer dropped to his knees beside the fallen Armoury Officer; Trip was mere seconds behind him.

"Oh my God..." Trip breathed, "Jon, is he...?"

"He's alive," Archer supplied, his fingers snaking underneath Reed's collar; he found a pulse, weak and shallow but a pulse nonetheless, and added, "just about..."

"Tactical systems are offline," T'Pol reported, from the other side of the Bridge, "I have prevented the automatic redirection of weapons control to the Armoury for the meantime."

Archer did not acknowledge this sensible precaution as his concern for his wounded officer precluded everything else.

"Keep him immobilised," Archer ordered, recalling his basic first aid training, "Don't let him move..."

Trip nodded and gently clasped his hands either side of Reed's head, but then immediately withdrew his right hand, glancing at his palm in horror; it was stained red with blood.

"Head wounds always bleed a lot," Archer tried to sound reassuring, "Find a first aid kit, quick! Malcolm? Malcolm, can you hear me?"

Reed remained unmoving on the deck, and Archer could feel all eyes on the Bridge staring at them. He tried to assess the younger man's injuries; his hands and face were scorched from the explosion and the front of his uniform was burned and blackened, but without a medical scanner and an expert eye it was impossible to say how bad it was.

"Hoshi, where the hell is Phlox?" Archer demanded, fear for his officer lending his tone an unintended harshness.

"He's on his way, sir!"

"Goddamn it," Archer said, bitterly, one hand still resting on Reed's shoulder, "Trip, I want you to take that console apart and find out what the hell just happened, understood?"

"I will, Jon – let's just see to Malcolm first..." Trip had located one of the emergency medical kits stored on the Bridge and was holding a sterile gauze against the wound to the back of Reed's head, attempting to stem the flow of blood.

A few moments later, the turbo-lift doors finally hissed open, revealing Dr Phlox. The Denobulan immediately spotted the two officers crouching beside their fallen comrade, and dropped down beside them.

"What happened?" he asked, immediately taking out his scanner and passing it over Reed quickly.

"The Tactical Console overloaded," Archer supplied, quickly, "it seems to have been done deliberately. Malcolm was caught in the blast."

Phlox made a humming noise; part acknowledgement, part concern. He administered a hypospray and then took the bloodied dressing from Trip's hand, applying a fresh one and hastily bandaging it in place.

"I think it is safe to move him," Phlox nodded, "if one of you gentlemen would be able to carry him to Sickbay?"

"I will," Archer volunteered, quickly, "Trip, get on with the assessment and repair of the Tactical Console. Someone seems to be very deliberately trying to cripple our weapons and our Armoury team and I want some answers."

"I'll do my best, Jon," Trip nodded, grimly, "just... let us know about Malcolm, okay?"

"Will do, Trip."

Under Phlox's guiding hand, Archer took Reed by the wrists and, with the doctor's assistance, lifted the limp officer upright and then hefted him onto his shoulder in a fireman's carry. The whole time, Reed did not stir or give any indication of regaining consciousness, which troubled Archer deeply. They left the Bridge, and Archer willed the turbo-lift to go faster.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Archer asked, quickly, as Phlox took another scan.

"His injuries are remarkably superficial, all things considered," the doctor replied, "he has suffered mild electrical burns and I'm detecting a faint heart arrhythmia as a result of the shock; he has a moderate concussion and a few bruises, but with treatment and proper bed rest he should make a full recovery."

"I hate to say this, doc, but I need him back on his feet as soon as possible," Archer felt horrible as he spoke but it was the truth, "Malcolm's the only one on board with the training and expertise to catch the saboteur and I think that's why he's been targeted – first Brogan, then Timmins, now Malcolm – we have to catch this person, quickly."

"I understand, Captain," Phlox was unnaturally subdued, "but I must act in the best interests of my patient and he should be allowed time to recover."

"If the saboteur detonates this bomb, doctor, none of us will be in a position to worry about that," Archer pointed out, "patch him up and get him back on his feet and I promise when this is all over I'll personally see to it he gets a week off duty."

"I'll see what I can do," Phlox agreed, reluctantly, "but I must insist he be allowed to regain consciousness unassisted; to wake him any earlier could cause severe trauma."

"How long, doctor?"

"Three to four hours at least."

"Agreed," Archer nodded, as they left the turbo-lift, heading to Sickbay, "we'll resume our course; I'm going to order the evacuation of the _Enterprise_ while we try to figure things out."

"A wise precaution, Captain," Phlox nodded, leading the way into Sickbay, "place him on the bed, please..."

With Phlox's help, Archer very gently placed Reed on the bed, straightening him up so that he was lying flat on his back. Under the harsh, bright lights of sickbay, his injuries looked even more horrific, and Archer grimaced at the burns and abrasions littering the Lieutenant's face and hands. On the next bed, Lieutenant Brogan was stretched out under a blanket, a monitor attached to her temple, still unconscious.

Archer surveyed his two most senior Armoury Officers, balling his right hand to into a fist. Ensign Timmins' body, he knew, was stored in the morgue. Whoever had done this would pay dearly. Phlox was already setting to work with a dermal regenerator; he barely spared the Captain a second glance.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but I need to work," the doctor told him, bluntly, "if you'll excuse me, I'll contact you when Mr Reed regains consciousness."

"Please do, doctor," Archer inclined his head slightly, spared one last glance at the recumbent form of Malcolm Reed, and then left Sickbay, determined to get to the bottom of things.

* * *

There was a voice, at first, in the haze and the pain and the darkness. There was a voice, and it was familiar somehow, and it was singing. The words did not make much sense, but there was a voice, and it was singing.

"Call you up in the middle of the night, like a firefly without a light... you were there like blow torch burning, I was a key that could use a little turning..."

The darkness surrounded him, muting most other senses, but he could hear the voice, and he tried to follow it, thinking it was a way out of the oppressive blackness, as distant and distorted as it sounded.

"So tired that I couldn't even sleep, so many secrets I couldn't keep! Promised myself I wouldn't weep; one more promise I couldn't keep... It seems no one can help me now, I'm in too deep, there's no way out. This time I have really led myself astray... Runaway train never goin' back, wrong way on a one way track..."

Pain flashed across his senses, blinding bright behind closed eyelids; he grunted and tried to twist away from it; a strong hand caught his shoulder, pinning him in place.

"Feels like I should be gettin' somewhere... Whoa! Hey, doc, I think he's finally waking up!"

The Tactical Console – he remembered the explosion, instinctively trying to turn his face away from the recollection of the burning sparks; the searing pain of electrical discharge shooting through his hands and arcing through his body; the impact of colliding with the bulkhead; pain lanced through his head and he recoiled from it automatically.

"Don't fight, Mal," strong hands held him down as something was pressed against his neck, "Phlox is giving you something for the pain..."

The hypospray delivered blessed relief and Reed was finally able to drag in a ragged breath, blinking to clear his vision; he found himself half-sitting up on the bed, his hands reflexively grasped around the wrists that were trying to pin him down, and his eyes met a familiar green-eyed, grinning face.

"Brogan!" he rasped out, his throat parched and sore; "You're awake!"

"I could say the same about you," she replied, still grinning despite being distinctly pale, with dark shadows under her eyes; Reed doubted he looked much better from the way he felt, "morning, Sunshine – you gave us a bit of a shock."

"Pretty sure I'm the one that got shocked," Reed remarked, releasing her wrists, surveying his hands; the skin was still red-raw and pink in places, indicating he had been treated with a dermal regenerator, "what happened?"

"Damned if I know, I was spark out at the time," Brogan replied, with a casual shrug, "and I've got the mother of all hangovers..."

"The Tactical Console was deliberately overloaded," a voice behind him made him turn, sitting up properly, "you were very lucky, Lieutenant."

"I suspect I owe you my thanks, doctor," Reed acknowledged, flexing his fingers experimentally; it was itchy and sore but a dramatic improvement on the electrical burns he had no doubt been sporting; his face and jaw felt similarly tight, and the thumping pain in the back of his head reminded him just how hard he'd hit the bulkhead.

"Not necessary, Mr Reed," the doctor spared him a tight smile, "as I'm sure you can appreciate, I would like you to take the time to recover fully before returning to active duty."

"Ah, no – no, no, that will have to wait," Reed shook his head and then grimaced, pressing a hand to his temple even as he continued, "I have to find whoever did this, and more importantly, our missing anti-matter detonator."

"Sadly, the Captain agrees with you and I fear I am in no position to argue," Phlox crossed over to him, holding the dermal regenerator, passing it over his face and hands in slow, steady sweeps; Reed tried not to grimace as it forced the skin to heal itself at an accelerated rate, searing and itching as it worked, "as you know I would normally prefer to use my Osmotic Eel for such treatments – it is certainly less painful and more effective over time, but sadly slower. This will have to do for now."

"Thank you," Reed acknowledged, trying not to grit his teeth, "what about Brogan?"

"I'm fine to return to duty," she announced, clapping her hands together enthusiastically, "fit as a fiddle."

"A debatable sentiment at best," Phlox responded, dryly, "but again, not one I am in a position to dispute. However, both of you will need to be careful – Lieutenant Brogan, if you experience any further pain, spasms, seizures, dizziness, nausea or vertigo you must report back to Sickbay. Lieutenant Reed, the same goes for you, you have a particularly nasty concussion and it really ought to be monitored."

"I'll be fine," the two officers said in unison, and then looked at each other, amused.

Phlox shook his head; "I'll inform the Captain that you're both being returned to duty... you can go."

"Thank you, doctor," Reed said, again.

"Cheers, doc!"

* * *

The two Tactical Officers exited the Sickbay together, and Brogan snagged Reed's elbow, pulling him a little closer as they walked.

"Is it true?" she hissed, into his ear, "Some bastard nailed me from behind with a fuckin' agoniser?"

"I'm afraid so," Reed replied, matching her low tone, "on the maximum setting. When I first saw it, when Phlox handed it to me, I thought..."

"Yeah, I can imagine," Brogan released his arm and glanced away, "you still got it?"

"It's sealed in the evidence locker," Reed nodded, "why?"

"Because setting three was always my personal favourite," Brogan growled, in a low, menacing tone, "and when we catch this mother-fucker, I am gonna use it to make him sing like a fuckin' canary... Phlox told me about Timmins. Damn shame. She was a good kid. When I get my hands on the bastard..."

"Steady, Brogan," Reed cautioned her, "that sort of thing won't carry here, not on this ship. We're playing this one by the rules."

"Rules were made to be broken, Mal. Who are we talking to first? You must have some ideas by now."

"I have a few suspects, but you won't like it," Reed answered, as they turned the corner to head towards the Armoury, "any idea what our current status is?"

"Orbiting some habitable planet somewhere," she shrugged, "the Captain's been gradually ferrying all non-essential personnel to the surface on the shuttles, it sounds like it's starting to look like a refugee camp down there. Armoury crew are all still on high alert and working in twos, nobody's allowed to be unaccompanied at any time."

"Good," Reed nodded, barely suppressing a wince when this intensified his headache, "I need to know the exact movements and locations of Crewman Davies, Crewman Oban, Crewman Stuart, Ensign Lee and Ensign D'Arcy."

"Not D'Arcy, surely?" Brogan stopped short in surprise, and then had to jog to catch up with him when he did not stop, "damn it, Malcolm, you can't be serious – not D'Arcy. Do you know how much I went through with him? I trust him with my life!"

"I know, Brogan, I know, and I trust you with mine," Reed tried to be reassuring, "but his duty rosters tally with the maintenance logs just like the others did, which makes him a suspect. I..."

He broke off and raise a hand to his aching head; something was niggling at the edge of his thoughts.

"You okay?" Brogan sounded concerned, "You've gone awfully pale."

"I'm fine," he murmured, carelessly, "I... I was doing something, on the Bridge, before... but I can't remember..."

They arrived at the armoury; Brogan tried to key open the door, but it beeped and would not move.

"You changed the code," Brogan commented.

"Ah, yeah, sorry..." Reed stepped by her and entered the correct code; the door swept open obligingly.

He locked it behind them, as Brogan swept forward and jumped up onto a torpedo launch tube, sitting on it with her legs dangling over the edge.

"Ah, it's good to be home," she commented, casting an approving eye around, "hey, you tidied – and you put my Christmas tree up! Aw, Malcolm, you old sentimentalist..."

"I was cross-checking," Reed leaned against the armoury console, ignoring her as he tried to remember, "I was referencing something... it was important, I can't remember..."

"Steady on with all that thinking over there, you'll put yourself back in Sickbay," Brogan lounged back against the torpedo; Reed glanced at her and grimaced, recalling the discovery of Ensign Timmins' body.

The defunct torpedo had been removed and replaced, but it would take a long time to get the image out of his head; the young Ensign's dead features gazing back at him from within the torpedo casing.

A summons at the door drew their attention, and they both turned towards it.

"Would you mind getting that?" Reed mumbled, still leaning heavily on the console.

"It's probably the Captain," Brogan replied making no effort to move.

"All the more reason to answer it," Reed did not look up.

"Might be our saboteur," Brogan continued, leaning back on her hands to swing her feet casually, "having heard how physically fit and able we both are and quaking in their boots at the thought of us hot on their tail, they've come to hand themselves in."

"Not bloody likely," Reed conceded defeat, and moved to open the door.

Sure enough, Archer was stood there, a slightly guilty look of surprise on his face, his hand halfway towards the door chime, no doubt to try summoning them again.

"Who is it, darling?" trilled a sing-song voice from behind Reed, "it is room service? Have they brought the Champagne I ordered?"

"Well, at least one of you is feeling better," Archer quipped, eyeing Reed's pallid features as the Lieutenant stepped aside to let him in, "it's good to see you both up and about... how are you feeling?"

"Fine, sir," Reed replied, dutifully.

"Like warmed up shit," Brogan said at the same time.

Archer quirked a smile at both of them; "I'm sorry you've both been forced back to duty so soon; I wish I could endorse Phlox's recommendations for rest and recuperation but we need to find that saboteur and the missing anti-matter container."

"Agreed, sir," Reed tried not to sound as weary as he felt, "I was just wondering... I was trying to remember..."

A wave of dizziness hit him, and he absent-mindedly reached for the console to steady himself, but missed. His knees buckled, and he would have fallen had Archer not grabbed his elbow; suddenly, Brogan was at his other side, and he found himself sitting on the deck, leaning back against the torpedo tube.

"Sorry," he groaned, raising a hand to his head.

"Maybe you were a bit too hasty in leaving Sickbay," Archer remarked, crouching beside him.

Brogan had joined him, sitting on the floor beside him, her shoulder supportive against his. He somehow felt less ridiculous sitting on the floor of the Armoury with her next to him and he reminded himself that sometimes, just sometimes, he really was thankful for her casual irreverence.

"I'm fine," Reed answered, automatically, "sorry, sir. I was just trying to remember what I was doing on the Bridge before... well, before my console exploded."

"Trip's been looking into that," Archer told him, grimly.

The Captain threw decorum to the wind, and took a seat on the deck opposite to Reed, leaning back against the other torpedo launcher.

"It seems that there were one or two altered power relays," Archer continued, making himself comfortable on the floor, stretching out his legs and crossing them, "but whoever triggered the overload did so remotely and they'd set it to bypass all of the safety protocols, sending a power surge straight through your console. It was made to look like an accident and if we hadn't known better we might have missed that it was a deliberate attack... our attacker is clever. There are sensor scramblers placed at strategic locations all over the ship that were activated to coincide with the surge to stop us from accurately predicting it. I'm sorry, Malcolm – we should have known, we should have checked the Tactical Console..,"

"I should have known, sir," Reed corrected him, softly, "I should have checked... It was my duty to ensure all of the Tactical systems were working properly."

"The system diagnostic you were running didn't flag anything up," Archer shook his head, "whatever's going on, it's been in the making for months..."

"I don't think our saboteur was ready, though," Brogan chimed in, "it was by accident that we discovered the tampering in the Armoury; ever since then everything that's happened smacks of desperation, a desire to throw us off or hide the evidence; the attack on me, Malcolm's console, Ensign Timmins... it's all deliberate but it's like damage control, and now we're way off course, orbiting a planet with most of the crew on the surface..."

"What are the chances our saboteur is still on board?" Archer wondered.

"If it's a member of the Armoury crew, one hundred percent," Brogan answered, "none of them have been relieved of duty yet."

"D'Arcy," Reed interjected, suddenly raising his slightly, "that was what I was doing on the Bridge – D'Arcy pulled several shifts with Timmins where maintenance logs match up with possible sabotage..."

"Who else?" Brogan demanded, defensively, "I'm telling you, it's not D'Arcy. It's not his style and he's done with Section 31 – same as you and me."

"Ah..." Reed frowned as he tried to recall, "Crewman Davies and Ensign Lee too, but there's crossover where D'Arcy did shifts with both of them as well... I'm sorry, Brogan, but the evidence is stacking up."

"I don't believe it," she scowled at the deck, drawing her knees up to her chest, "we've always been tight, he's saved my ass more than once. He'd never smack me from behind with the agoniser."

"Even if Harris ordered him to?" Reed queried, sharply, "If he told him you were a double agent or a traitor, perhaps? You know what that bastard can be like; he manipulates you – plays with your head – he's done it to me before..."

Archer remained diplomatically silent at this comment, as Brogan heaved a sigh.

"Fine," she huffed, "we'll haul him in for questioning and search his quarters. You question him, I'll conduct the search; I wouldn't want to be accused of going easy on him."

"Fine by me," Reed acquiesced, though at present, he was unsure of his ability to form a coherent question, let alone conduct an interrogation.

"I'll be present for the interview," Archer told them, authoritatively, his tone brooking no argument, "If Ensign D'Arcy is working under the orders of Section 31, I want to know exactly what they hoped to accomplish."

Reed nodded and, very carefully, got to his feet. Archer and Brogan stood as well, as Reed crossed to the wall panel.

"Lieutenant Reed to Ensign D'Arcy; come in please."

There was a long pause, as Archer and Brogan exchanged a concerned glance.

"Reed to D'Arcy; please respond."

"I don't like this..." Brogan growled, under her breath.

"Lieutenant Reed to Ensign D'Arcy, report in immediately!"

Brogan turned to the console and began tapping in commands, reviewing the security logs.

"Here!" she pointed to the screen, "he's stationed on duty outside the starboard fusion impulse system."

"Who with?" Reed queried, heading over to one of the weapons lockers, keying in the code quickly.

"Crewman Davies," Brogan replied, "we toolin' up here?"

"We'll go prepared," Reed nodded, withdrawing two phase pistols from the cabinet, "Captain, with respect, this could be dangerous – you should return to the Bridge."

"No," Archer shook his head, determinedly, "give me one of those, I'm coming with you."

Reed could not argue in the face of a direct order, and reluctantly withdrew a third phase pistol.

"Please let us lead the way, sir," Reed asked him, as he handed over the weapon, "we are trained for this."

"My money's on it being Davies," Brogan checked her phase pistol and adjusted her grip, "not D'Arcy. Do you want to clear the halls first?"

"No – leave all stationed personnel where they are," Reed told her, swiftly, as the three of them stepped out of the Armoury, "the ship is virtually empty... there is one thing..."

As they walked, Reed reached into his sleeve pocket and pulled out a communicator. Archer looked at him in surprise; with the intercom system aboard the ship it was not really necessary to carry a long-distance communicator around.

"I always have one," Reed shrugged, by way of explanation, catching his questioning look, "useful if the com system is down – or being monitored... Reed to Bridge."

"Bridge, go ahead," came Hoshi's voice, "is there a problem with the intercom, sir? I'm not reading any faults..."

"No, Hoshi, but it might be being monitored, and not just by you," Reed told her, "I need to you to contact Commander Tucker and ask him to shut down power to the impulse fusion reactors, immediately."

"Understood... Is there anything else, sir?"

"Get all remaining non-essential personnel onto shuttles and planet-side immediately," Reed said, quickly, glancing to Archer for confirmation and receiving a nod in return, "The Captain, Brogan and I are following a lead. We'll keep you informed but from this point on we'll maintain radio silence."

"I understand. Good luck."

"Thanks. Reed out."


	6. Chapter 6

Reed snapped the communicator closed and zipped it safely back in his sleeve pocket, adjusting his grip on his phase pistol as they entered the turbo-lift. It whisked them up from F to E Deck, and as the doors opened, Reed and Brogan immediately assumed defensive positions; Reed on the left, Brogan on the right. Archer hung back, keeping his own phase pistol drawn, trying unsuccessfully to move as silently and swiftly as the two tactical professionals before him. They advanced with well practiced grace and efficiency; scanning every nook, cranny, doorway and access hatch before nodding the other ahead. Reed was on point when he stepped around the corner and two crewmen gazed at him in shock. Seeing their commanding officer clutching a phase pistol, they both went to draw their weapons and join him, but he held up his left hand, fingers spread, warning them to stay in place.

"Hold your positions," he whispered to them, as the three officers approached, "nobody – I repeat – nobody else is to come past you. Use any force necessary, understood?"

"Aye, sir!" came the whispered assents.

Reed and Brogan drifted past them, silent as spectres, while Archer brought up the rear. They paused again at a junction in the corridor; Brogan made a quick gesture with her hand and Reed, crouching slightly, moved forward cautiously, peering around the edge of the corner. He glanced back and gestured the all-clear; Brogan and Archer joined him, all three officers crouching and keeping low to the ground. Archer risked a glance around the corner; the corridor stretched about twelve meters ahead of them, to the door of the starboard impulse drive fusion reactor control room. The door stood closed.

"This is where they should be stationed," Reed murmured, softly.

Brogan drew a scanner from her belt, and awkwardly pressed a few buttons while maintaining her grip on her phase pistol.

"Damn sensor's being scrambled," she grumbled in disgust, "can't tell if there's life or power beyond that door or not..." holstering the scanner, she glanced across at Reed; "How do you want to play this?"

"Direct approach would seem our only option," he replied, "ready?"

At their joint nods, Reed broke cover and moved swiftly but silently to the left-hand side of the door. Brogan went next, taking up the opposite position on the right-hand side. Archer came last, joining Brogan on the left, crowding just behind her at the edge of the door. Reed held up his phase pistol and Brogan matched the gesture, indicating readiness. Reed held up three fingers on his left hand, counted down to two, and then one.

On zero, both of them moved fluidly forwards and through the door as Brogan trigged the door mechanism, admitting them to a tiny room, featureless aside from computer consoles either side of the door and two more doorways, one leading off to the left, the other to the right. At Reed's gesture, Brogan took the left door as he approached the right. Again, moving in timed unison, they both entered their doors simultaneously. Archer hung back, waiting to see if either would require assistance.

"Clear!" Brogan called out, eventually.

"In here, both of you," Reed called, in a foreboding voice.

Archer was through the door a heartbeat before Brogan, but stopped short, just beyond the doorway, and she almost ran into him. Stepping around the Captain, she was able to see what had caused him to halt in his tracks. Reed was crouching on the floor beside a slumped figure. He seized the body by the shoulder, rolling it over.

"Aw, shit," Brogan raised the back of her hand to her mouth as she swore, "oh, fuck."

Crewman Davies lay there before them; his throat slit almost from ear to ear, his blood congealing in a thick, red pool on the deck.

"He's cold," Reed told them, in a voice devoid of emotion, "he's been here for a few hours at least..."

"Long enough to overload the Armoury Console," Archer commented, darkly, "long enough to scramble our sensors and long enough to cause untold system damage..."

Brogan holstered her phase pistol; shaking her head, "I don't believe it... no, not D'Arcy... not Julian. He wouldn't do this."

"You're telling me he's never slit a throat before?" there was open challenge in Reed's voice, anger simmering beneath the surface of his cold, grey gaze, "He's never hacked a security system, scrambled a sensor array or staged an 'accidental' overload? You and I both know damn well this has Section 31 written all over it..."

"So am I a suspect now?" Brogan threw back at him, "or you? Just having been an agent makes you a suspect unless you're "one of us", is that it?"

"Enough," Archer interjected, forcefully, before an argument could begin, "you're both right in your way but the important thing is to locate Ensign D'Arcy – he could be a suspect, or he could even be another victim."

The slight flash of guilt across Reed's face was enough to tell the Captain that this possibility had not occurred to him. Brogan sucked in a deep breath.

"Not sure which would be worse," she admitted; her fondness for her long-term colleague glaringly obvious, "finding him like this, or finding out that he did it."

"Let's not pre-judge," Archer cautioned them both, "innocent until proven guilty but approach with caution. Let's get Phlox down here, run a full system check and begin a ship-wide search for D'Arcy, we can't rely on internal sensors to locate him."

"Aye sir," Reed moved to obey, crossing to the nearest com panel to summon the doctor.

Brogan turned to Archer, and raised her eyebrows; "A ship-wide search with only a skeleton crew? This could take a while."

"Then we'd best get started."

* * *

The _Enterprise_ was normally the abode of some 81 humans, a Vulcan, a Denobulan and a Beagle named Porthos. All of those life forms, no matter their history and circumstance, had come to think of the ship as their home and their ship-mates as their extended family. It was a ship of safety, exploration and peace; yes, there were dangers and conflicts and arguments and occasional issues, but it was still home to one big and unusual, though relatively happy, family.

Today, however, was different. Two of their own were dead and another was missing. More than two-thirds of the crew had been shuttled down to a suitable planet and forced to camp together, huddled in tents beneath alien stars, while their remaining colleagues aboard hunted some unknown menace that stalked the halls. Aboard the ship, main power had been shut down to all but the most essential systems as the skeleton crew, mainly comprised of engineers and armoury personnel, swept through the ship in teams of two, armed with phase pistols and scanners, hunting for an errant crewmember, possibly armed with a bomb capable of putting a sizable hole through several decks of the ship.

Moving like wraiths through dimly-lit corridors running on emergency low power, the crew went about their hunt with the grim determination of those willing to go to any lengths to find the person who had caused such grief and hurt to the ship and her crew.

Archer had left T'Pol in charge of the Bridge with only Hoshi and Travis remaining at their posts, while he joined in the search of the ship, pairing off with Brogan, the irrepressible second-in-command of the Armoury. Trip had paired up with Reed, and the four of them had formed the core team co-ordinating the search and checking out any lead, no matter how small. False alarms and ghost calls kept them on their toes but wore their nerves thin and down to the wire.

"This is ridiculous," Trip hissed, to Malcolm Reed, as they wormed their way through a tight crawlspace, "is Denton sure he saw movement in here?"

"About as sure as Thaddeus was when he reported seeing D'Arcy going into the head on E Deck," Reed whispered back.

"Poor Ensign Cleethorpes..." Trip suppressed a snicker, recalling the Ensign's horrified expression when Reed had kicked the stall door in, "still, at least he was in the right place for you to scare the crap out of him!"

Reed responded to Trip's 'toilet humour' with a derisory snort, squeezing through a particularly tight spot, and then following the passage off to the right. He soon came to an access hatch, which he opened with relief, climbing out into the corridor, visually scanning for any signs of life. Nothing... he stepped forward, allowing Trip to clamber out beside him.

"Another false alarm," Trip grumbled, as he straightened up and tugged his uniform back into place, "Aw, hell with it, Malcolm – why don't we just evacuate the rest of the crew an' flood the whole damn ship with radiation?"

"Don't tempt me," Reed sighed, rubbing his temple to try to will away the headache that was still present, "besides, you know as well as I do that any radiation or other power surge could destabilise the anti-matter containment field in the missing torpedo warhead, and..."

He broke off as a dull sound echoed down the corridor from his right; was that a voice he had heard? He snapped his phase pistol up, headache forgotten, motioning for Trip to stay behind him. He crept slowly up the corridor, ears straining for any slight noise, alert for any movement. A quick glance around told him Trip was staying close; they were on G deck, the smallest and the lowest decks in the forward hull section of the ship. Reed crept forwards; they had entered the deck near the turbolift, so there was only one direction for them to go. He followed the corridor to the end where it turned sharply to the left, past the planetary sensor array, beyond which there was only an equipment locker and the guests' quarters, which were currently empty.

Reed paused outside the equipment locker, but there was another muffled clatter and this time a voice snapped something, but he could not hear what was said. Reed gestured for Trip to follow him; the corridor turned another left, and then left again. The only room to access was the sensor array monitoring bay, usually manned by the science department but it should have been empty. Reed paused outside, taking up a position to the right of the door; Trip went to the left. There was a muffled noise from within, and then an audible voice responded.

"Shut up! Do you want me to detonate this thing early? We've got at least another fifteen minutes before the first search teams start to sweep this deck..."

Trip looked to Reed in askance; the Tactical Officer had gone a shade paler. He knew that voice.

"Not D'Arcy," he whispered, his voice little more than a breath, lest they be overheard and discovered, "Ensign Lee!"

"Lee?" Trip's face was incredulous, "Should we call for backup?"

"No time," Reed shook his head, adjusting his grip on the phase pistol.

Trip did the same, both men bracing themselves; there was no other way in than a frontal assault. At Reed's nod, Tucker triggered the door and they both burst through; Reed went low, Trip went high. Reed's eyes took in the scene in a heartbeat; Ensign D'Arcy was tied to a chair, a gag taped over his mouth, his eyes wide with shock. Ensign Lee, a tall but stocky man in his early twenties, spun around, raising a phase pistol even as he dived for cover behind a console. Reed fired as Lee pulled the trigger; Reed's shot missed by a hair's breadth as Lee made it to cover but he heard Trip's grunt of surprise as the Engineer was hit in the chest; he toppled backwards and hit the deck with an unceremonious thud.

"Trip!" worry laced Reed's tone but a quick check told him that his friend had, thankfully, only been hit by a beam set to stun.

Given Lee's apparent propensity for killing, Reed was relieved that the phase pistol had not been on a higher setting. He glanced across at D'Arcy momentarily, but then kept his gaze and weapon pointed at where Lee crouched behind the console.

"Give it up, Lee," he commanded, circling the room, "surrender now, you can't escape this room..."

His only reply was the waspish buzz of a phase pistol discharge; he dodged to one side, avoiding it neatly as he returned fire, his own shot slamming harmlessly into a bulkhead.

"Ensign, I don't know what Commander Harris has ordered you to do, but you've failed!" Reed snapped, "Throw down your weapon and surrender!"

"Once my mission is finished it'll be Lieutenant Lee, not Ensign!" the other man called back, "It's too late, Reed – I've already triggered the warhead. The containment field is decaying and will breach in less than five minutes, it'll take out at least two decks."

"And you along with it," Reed responded, silently trying to circle around the console to get a clear shot, "you won't live to see that promotion..."

"I'll be long gone before it detonates," Lee retorted, "it's you and D'Arcy that won't survive."

Reed edged closer to the panel, but as he was almost there Lee suddenly shot to his feet, vaulting over the console; his flying kick took the phase pistol clean out of Reed's hand, he landed and spun a high, fast kick that caught Reed across the jaw, sending him crashing to the deck. Stunned, he shook it off and just managed to roll aside in time to avoid Lee's crushing boot-heel coming down on his head as the Ensign leapt at him.

"Hold this for me..." Lee smirked, dropping the torpedo warhead carelessly into D'Arcy's lap.

Reed carefully wiped the blood from his lip as he got to his feet, eyeing Lee appraisingly. The younger man did not usually fair well in his hand-to-hand training and sparring sessions; it was clear that he had been holding back on his true skills. Raising their hands into a defensive position, the two opponents circled each other, warily; Reed was hyper-aware that he needed to act quickly to take down Lee and then disarm or dispose of the device. Oozing confidence, Lee set his phase pistol down on the console and turned to face Reed.

"Do you know what? I'm going to enjoy taking you apart with my bare hands, you bastard..." Lee smirked, arrogance shining in his mocking eyes.

"Don't bet on it," Reed mumbled.

As he had expected, Lee made the first move; a feint with his right hand and then a sharp jab with his left that Reed easily blocked. He responded with a right-handed punch that the Ensign jarred aside with lightning-fast reflexes. The returning blow caught Reed below his jaw, snapping his head back with surprising force. He rounded faster than Lee had apparently expected, managing to land a blow to the Ensign's midriff that doubled him over; a follow-up clout sent the Ensign staggering backwards, separating them momentarily, but Lee rallied quickly, lowering his head. He ran forwards; Reed braced for a tackle but instead the Ensign jumped and kicked out; Reed managed to duck the blow but he was thrown off-balance, allowing Lee to land and kick again, sweeping Reed's legs from beneath him. The Lieutenant crashed to the deck and hastily scrambled to his knees, but another kick, the time heel first, slammed into his face with devastating force. He crashed back down again, dazed and more than a little winded, his vision blurring as he raised a hand to his right cheek. Pain flared beneath his eye socket and he groaned, hearing the Ensign's mocking laugh.

"Had enough yet, old man?"

"Just getting warmed up," Reed replied, through gritted teeth.

He hauled himself to his hands and knees, and, gathering his strength, he launched himself at the Ensign. Lee must have been taken by surprise by the suddenness of the attack, as the two men went sprawling on the deck, each grappling for a hold on the other, exchanging blows at lightning fast speed. Reed thought he was gaining the upper hand, until Lee managed to gather his legs and, with his boots planted firmly in Reed's chest, the Lieutenant found himself thrown through the air, landing on the deck and sliding a few feet until he collided with the bulkhead. Gasping for breath, winded, his head spinning, Reed was just trying to lift himself off the floor when strong hands hauled him upright. Helpless, he was thrown across the room, colliding hard with the console.

"Pathetic," Lee sneered, though he was panting with the exertion of their efforts.

"Guess again," Reed's fingers closed around his intended goal; Lee's abandoned phase pistol.

He turned and fired in one smooth motion; Lee's eyes widened in shock and he collapsed to the deck. Reed hastily crossed to D'Arcy; without hesitation he ripped the gag from the other Ensign's lips.

"Sir!" D'Arcy gasped out, "the warhead!"

"I've got it," Reed picked up the device, grimly, even as he released D'Arcy's right hand from the adhesive tape that restrained him in the chair, "free yourself and see to these two. I don't have time to disarm this..."

"What will you do?" D'Arcy shouted after him, but Reed was already running.

One glance at the anti-matter containment had confirmed his worse fears; the breach was inevitable and he had no time to get it to an appropriate power supply. He ran, full tilt, to the nearest airlock, but he had seconds, not minutes... he opened the door, threw the device inside, and decompressed the airlock using the emergency override, sucking the bomb out into space with the sudden decompression.

 _Not enough!_ Reed's mind screamed at him even as he slammed his hand on the nearest communications panel.

"Reed to Bridge! Polarise the hull plating immediately! All hands – brace for...!"

He never got the chance to finish his warning. The device detonated; the explosion slammed into the ship with the devastating force only a photonic torpedo could unleash. The _Enterprise_ bucked wildly; Reed was thrown head first into the bulkhead and he was unconscious before he even hit the deck.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's note: I thought I would finish and post the whole story; my early Christmas gift to you. If you have read this, of course I'd be very grateful for a review - it's what keeps us writers going! This chapter contains offensive language and gratuitous singing. You may even want to play "Fairytale of New York" by The Pogues featuring Kirsty MacColl at the end... Merry Christmas, everyone._

* * *

"What's the damage, Trip?" Captain Archer was sitting on a bed in sickbay, next to the Chief Engineer.

The Captain was sporting a bruise to his face and a cut to his forehead that had already been attended to; Trip was still feeling the after-effects of being hit by a stun beam at close range.

"We were lucky, all things considered," Trip told him, with a shrug, "the sensor array took most of the damage, but we'll have it back online within forty-eight hours. We've got hull breaches on Decks G through to E but repair crews will start working on that as soon as we get everyone back from the planet's surface. If it hadn't been for the emergency bulkheads we'd have a lot more casualties on our hands..."

"Shame Lee didn't survive the blast," Archer said, darkly, "what happened?"

"I dunno," Trip shrugged, tiredly, "I was out cold. D'Arcy said he was still trying to free himself when the bomb went off. Lee was thrown against the console; broke his neck. By the time I came around it was all over; I found D'Arcy waitin' for me to wake up, and that's when we went an' found Malcolm in the corridor..."

Trip trailed off, casting his eyes at the bed they were both facing. Reed lay there, one hand resting on his chest, the other twitching by his side as he grimaced, shifting uncomfortably. His face was bruised and battered; his right eye was swollen shut with bruising from what Phlox had informed them was a hairline fracture to the eye socket. The Tactical Officer shivered and shifted beneath the thin blanket that had been draped over him, despite still being dressed in his uniform. Phlox was busy; several crewmembers, Reed included, had been close to the blast, but some had been far less fortunate. Archer reflected that, given the hull breaches and the proximity to the blast, they had been incredibly lucky not to lose anyone. The fact that the ship was virtually devoid of crew had no doubt helped.

The sickbay doors swished open, and Archer looked up as Lieutenant Brogan swept in, a pad in her hands. She cast a quick glance at Reed, and Archer saw her jaw tighten slightly.

"It's a good thing Lee died in the blast," she spat, angrily, "if I'd have gotten my hands on the cock-headed little shit-bag I'd have taught him what the agoniser was really designed to do..."

"Your report, Lieutenant?" Archer cut in, smoothly; he'd quickly gotten used to Brogan's colourful language but most of the other crew were often shocked by her curse-laden vocabulary.

Archer had once mentioned it to Reed; the Lieutenant had simply smiled and said that nobody could swear quite like the English.

"My report, Captain, is that the ship has been royally fucked over by that traitorous tosspot and we are bloody lucky we are standin' here breathin' enough decent air to damn that bastard scrote to the arse end of hell and back," she spat back, vehemently, "Captain, if that bomb had gone off inside the sensor array monitoring station it would have gone straight up through the centre of the ship through at least four or five decks, it would have been a shit-storm of a cluster-fuck, no messin'. You and I wouldn't be sitting here right now and there wouldn't have been a whole lot of ship left for anyone to return to. The crew is returnin' via shuttlepod as we speak; I've lifted the security lockdowns and reinstated full duty shifts under Sub-Commander T'Pol's orders."

"Good," Archer nodded, "anything else?"

"Ensign D'Arcy is making a full report but he says Lee took him by surprise; he was stunned by a phase pistol apparently just before Crewman Davies was killed," Brogan replied, her tone a little calmer, "D'Arcy didn't know about Davies, he was devastated when I told him... he woke up tied up in a storage locker, before Lee took him down to G-Deck; he says Lee was going to hold him hostage if he was discovered. D'Arcy was apparently going to go up with the bomb as everyone's favourite suspect."

"Damn," Archer said, softly.

"Yeah," Brogan agreed, and then tossed another look over her shoulder at Reed, "How's he doin'?"

"Been better, I guess," Trip spoke up, as Reed groaned in semi-consciousness, "fractured eye-socket, severe concussion, a few other bumps and bruises – lucky, I guess, given how close he was to the blast."

"Still feel like Lee got off lightly," Brogan growled, tapping the pad against her palm, "still, at least the little prick's dead. Saves me the job of killin' him meself."

"Brogan," Archer's tone held warning as if chiding her, and she grimaced.

"Alright, sorry, Captain, sir," she replied, "just lettin' off steam is all."

Archer was about to reply when Phlox bustled over; Brogan excused herself and bowed out of sickbay, returning to duty. Phlox passed his scanner over Archer and then over Trip.

"Well, gentlemen, I see no reason to keep you here," the doctor smiled at them, "though please do take it easy for the next day or so, Captain, you may only have a mild concussion but there is no need to push yourself."

"What about Malcolm?" Trip asked, hopping off the bed.

"He will make a full recovery," Phlox said, airily, as Archer eased himself off the bed more gingerly, mindful of his own bruises, "he just needs to wait his turn for my Osmotic Eel to repair the damage to his eye socket..."

"Nice," Trip grimaced, "Okay, thanks Doc..."

Archer stopped by the bed that held his wounded Armoury Officer, resting his hand on Reed's shoulder. To his surprised, the Lieutenant shifted and then turned to look at him, opening his one good eye.

"Lee?" Reed murmured, through swollen, split lips, "The ship?"

"Lee's dead," Archer told him, "you saved the ship, Malcolm. You got the device out the airlock in the nick of time and your warning to polarise the hull plating came just in time to prevent much worse damage. Trip's going to be busy for the next few days but we were really lucky – you saved us."

Reed grimaced and shivered beneath Archer's touch and the Captain gripped his shoulder reassuringly.

"Get some rest," Archer told him, gently, "you've definitely earned it."

Archer waited until he was sure Reed was either asleep or unconscious – he couldn't really tell – before he and Trip slipped out of the Sickbay.

"Hey Jon," Trip said, softly, as they left.

"What's up, Trip?"

"I've just realised - it's Christmas Eve..."

"Sorry Trip – I don't think there will be much of a party today... maybe tomorrow."

* * *

Back in his quarters, Ensign D'Arcy waited patiently by his desk. Sure enough, on time, the communications system on his desk flashed up an incoming call alert – this was not coming through the ship's official channel, but through his own, private system. He pressed to accept the call, and Commander Harris's face filled the screen.

"Sir," he said, by way of greeting.

 _"Ensign,"_ Harris returned the nod, _"I've read your report and the reports filed by the Enterprise senior staff."_

"Yes, sir."

 _"Your mission failed."_

"Yes, sir. Lieutenant Reed discovered the tampering with the weapons systems before we were able to rendezvous with the captured Klingon vessel for the incident you had planned..."

 _"I'm well aware of what happened, Ensign,"_ Harris cut him off, brusquely, _"at least Ensign Lee was able to take the fall single-handedly. It was a shame you had to terminate him but it was for the best. Do they suspect you at all?"_

"No sir," D'Arcy replied, confidently, "they did at first but now they're convinced I'm no longer an active agent for the Section."

 _"Good,"_ Harris narrowed his eyes, _"Malcolm Reed has been a thorn in my side for too long, D'Arcy. The next chance you get, I want him out of the picture, permanently."_

"What about Lieutenant Brogan?"

 _"I'm surprised Archer hasn't thrown the insubordinate bitch off the Enterprise already,"_ Harris scowled, _"we can now think of Lieutenants Reed and Brogan as future collateral damage, D'Arcy, do I make myself clear?"_

"Aye sir – but what about the rest of the crew?"

 _"We need the mission to be a success for the sake of Starfleet, but Archer is taking things too far with his overt friendliness to every alien species he meets,"_ Harris replied, carefully, _"an interstellar war can only serve to bolster Starfleet's military, particularly funding for weapons and ordinance; we need to be feared and respected, just as much as the Klingons, or else we'll be ripe for alien influence and suppression. It's bad enough the damn Vulcans are breathing down our necks all of the time, just waiting for us to fail... Section 31 has Starfleet's best interests at heart, you know that, Ensign."_

"Yes, sir," D'Arcy responded, with dutiful conviction.

 _"One way or another, Enterprise will spark a major diplomatic incident,"_ Harris continued, darkly, _"I will see to it that as a result of that conflict, Section 31 and the military have all the funding and resources that we need to protect us from alien threats to our security, and you, Ensign, are now perfectly placed to help me do it. You'll be a hero."_

"Aye sir. What do you want me to do?"

 _"For now, nothing. Archer thinks he's safe again. Let him think that for now. I will contact you when we are ready to try again in the future... for now, just await my orders. Harris out."_

* * *

The next day, Reed was released from Sickbay, more at his own insistence than anything else. His right eye was still swollen and blackened and he knew from the shocked glances he drew from crewmen passing him in the corridor that he still looked beaten and bruised. Still, he got a few mumbled comments as he walked the corridors...

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Well done, sir."

"Good work, sir."

"You saved us – thanks, sir."

He nodded to each of them, uncomfortable with their warm sincerity, knowing that he had only done his duty and keenly aware of how close he had come to failing. Lee had almost beaten him. In desperate need of a cup of tea, he wandered to the mess hall; the ship's weapons had miraculously escaped much damage in the attack so now it was Trip's turn to be busy. Reed could obey the doctor's and the Captain's orders, and take the next day or two off. He strolled into the Mess Hall and was relieved to find it was relatively quiet; it was between shifts. Two crewmen were busy hanging paper chains around the walls and Reed realised, with a start, that it was Christmas Day.

"Thought I'd find you here," a voice from behind him made him jump, and he turned, to find Brogan holding two mugs of aromatic tea, "here – Earl Grey. My own personal supply."

"Thanks," he took the mug and inhaled deeply, appreciating the delicate floral aroma.

"Merry Christmas," Brogan gave him a lop-sided grin, "Captain says we'll be having a party in here to celebrate. You comin'?"

"I'm not a fan of parties."

"It's kind of in your honour. You have to be there."

"No, I don't."

"Hero of the hour, and all that shit."

"No."

"Captain's gonna make a speech, you know."

"I'm not going."

"I'll order you to go."

"I'm pretty sure we've had this conversation before..."

Reed did not resist as Brogan took his elbow and guided him over to where the piano sat in the corner. Her guitar was still resting beside it. She picked it up and automatically played a few chords; the crewmen putting up the decorations spared them a quick glance but continued with their work. The few others occupying the mess hall all turned, expectantly, in their direction.

"I bet you can't even see to play, with that eye," Brogan remarked, strumming a few bars of a well-known Christmas song.

"As if I need to see," Reed slid onto the stool, flexing his fingers and opening up the piano, "Some of these tunes are memorised... Do you remember this one...?"

He played the opening chords to a song, and Brogan's face split into a broad grin; "Oh, my favourite... yeah, go on, I'm sure no one will mind..."

Reed cleared his throat, playing an improvised bridge, and then repeated the opening chords, before he began to sing, in a mellow tenor voice, adding a slight slur to his usual crisp tone; "It was Christmas Eve, babe... in the drunk tank. An old man said to me, 'won't see another one'. And then he sang a song, that rare old mountain dew! I turned my face away, and dreamed about you..."

The crewmen hanging decorations had given up all pretence of working and were openly staring at the two Tactical Officers at the piano. The other patrons of the Mess Hall had turned their chairs to appreciate the impromptu performance.

"Got on a lucky one," Reed sang, a gravelly edge to his voice, "came in eighteen to one... I've got a feeling this year's for me and you. So Happy Christmas – I love you baby! I can see a better time, when all our dreams come true..."

He played a few soft notes on the piano, and then the tune shifted, becoming more upbeat. Brogan, an inveterate showman, turned towards the audience and spread her arms wide as she sang out loudly and brightly.

"They got cars big as bars, they've got rivers of gold! But the wind blows right through you, it's no place for the old! When you first took my hand on that cold Christmas Eve, you promised me Broadway was waiting for me. You were handsome..."

"You were a pretty queen of New York city," Reed interjected, and then the two of them sang together; "when the band finished playing, they howled out for more. Sinatra was swinging, all the drunks they were singing, we kissed on the corner then danced through the night."

Their voices rose in unison for the chorus; "The boys of the NYPD choir were singing 'Galway Bay', and the bells were ringing out, for Christmas Day!"

The piano swept along in a jaunty tune; most of the crew in the Mess Hall were grinning and tapping their feet or nodding their heads along to the catchy beat of the tune. Then Brogan launched into the raunchier verse.

"You're a bum, you're a punk!" she pointed at Reed accusingly, laughing as she sang.

"You're an old slut on junk," he responded, smiling despite his bruised features, "lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed."

"You scumbag, you maggot! You cheap lousy faggot, Happy Christmas you arse I pray God it's our last!"

Together, they belted out; "The boys of the NYPD choir still singing 'Galway Bay', and the bells are ringing out for Christmas Day!"

The tune softened, as Reed took on a melancholic tone.

"I could have been someone..."

"Well so could anyone," Brogan trilled back, "you took me dreams from me, when I first found you."

"I kept them with me babe... I put them with my own... can't make it all alone, I built my dreams around you..."

"The boys of the NYPD choir still singing 'Galway Bay', and the bells are ringing out for Christmas Day!"

Reed ended the song with a flourish on the piano, to raucous applause from the crew in the mess hall. Brogan laughed and took a bow, casting her hands towards Reed, who blushed slightly in response to the clapping and a wolf-whistle from somewhere near the back of the room. Wincing as his bruised body protested the movement; Reed reached for the mug of tea on top of the piano and sipped it appreciatively.

"I'm sorry your carol concert got cancelled amidst the chaos," he murmured, as Brogan tuned up her guitar.

"That's okay, we'll get a few songs in at the party tonight," she smiled back, rolling up her sleeves, and idly strumming the instrument, "you don't have to play if you don't want to; hero of the hour always gets to take it easy."

"We'll see how I feel," he replied, non-committal, "hey, Brogan?"

"Yeah, Mal?"

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you too, mate."

* * *

 _Finis..._


End file.
